Champagne from a Paper Cup
by PlrtzGlrb
Summary: A wedding, an untouched drink, twelve slices of cake, two ice cream cones, and one long overdue pro-con list. Literati. Spoilers for the end of the revival.


**A/N** : I loved the revival, warts and all. And I loved those last four words. Here's my take on the following 24 hours.

* * *

He isn't watching her. Not exactly.

He hasn't been pining. He'd be lying if he said there weren't pangs. Memories brought on by a book they'd discussed, or a song that sounded like their youth. Little what-ifs and what-could-have-beens peppered through the last decade of his life. But wondering isn't pining. Remembering isn't living in the past.

He's not watching her. But he does notice her, alone, arms folded against her stomach, a half-eaten plate of hors d'oeuvres, and a thousand-yard stare.

"Champagne?"

Her head snaps to meet his gaze. Her expression unreadable. It's a reasonable offer, considering the surroundings. A string quartet plays "Norwegian Wood." There are pink streamers streaming, twinkle lights twinkling, and ballerinas prancing in the street. There are twelve different cakes, a fried Twinkie bar, and a collection of bon bons to put Versailles to shame.

And so, "thanks," she says, taking the glass.

"Good day?"

"Good day."

Jess tilts his flute to cheers. They clink glasses, and Rory takes a shallow sip.

"Took them long enough." They look on as Luke and Lorelai dance a comfortable waltz, clinging dreamily to each other in the orange light of magic hour. Miss Patty's ballerinas shower the guests with rose petals as they weave through the crowd.

"They look happy," Rory says.

"They do."

"When I try to picture myself having that, I just get fog. Static. Error, 404. Does not compute."

"Danger, Will Robinson." Jess frowns. "I thought I was the cynical one."

"It's been a shitty…year," she explains. A hard exhale. "God, could I be any more selfish? What kind of lousy daughter sulks at her own mother's wedding?"

"Hey, I wrote the book on sulking. And the sequel."

"I saw they topped the bestseller list."

"You're doing fine."

She swirls the champagne idly in her glass. The string quartet plucks out the opening notes of "Hong Kong Garden." Jess tilts his head toward the dance floor suggestively, and she balks.

" _You_ want to dance?" she asks.

"It's Siouxsie and the Banshees."

"I'm sure Kirk would love to join you. You've seen his trophies."

"I do not want to dance with Kirk."

"So you want to dance with _me._ "

" _Near_ you, sure."

She scoffs. "I'm sure."

"Hey, I'm just trying to cheer you up. I can leave you alone, Rory, but don't make this about something else."

She flexes her jaw. Swallows her pride. "Sorry."

"S'ok." He downs the remainder of his drink. "Want anything? Crab puff? Time machine?" A grin escapes her lips.

Jess nudges her shoulder as a gesture of goodwill and heads for the bar.

"I haven't tried the hat cake!" she calls after. He shakes his head in mock dismay, but she can tell he's smiling.

* * *

"This is the best hat cake I've ever tasted."

"I bet you say that about all the hat cakes."

"Well sure, but Toby here doesn't need to know that." She covers the cake with her hands, like she's covering its ears.

"Toby, huh?"

"We're involved."

Jess steals a bite. She doesn't protest.

"So, how's P?"

"Who?"

"P. As in, 'break up with.'"

"Oh. He broke up with me this morning."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I would have done it months ago if I hadn't kept forgetting."

"How do you forget to break up with someone?"

"Say, how's the weather in California?"

"Touché."

Rory sets her fork down with a clang, cake still adhered.

She clutches her stomach with both hands. Eyes shut, swallowing a wave of nausea.

"You ok?"

She nods, unconvincingly. "Just a little light headed."

"You sure?"

"Bad Twinkie." She stands, abruptly. "I need some air." She marches to the bar and orders herself a ginger ale on the rocks. Jess watches her slip out and off toward the _Gazette_.

* * *

Zach and Brian's banter floats indistinguishably from the square as Rory questions the aesthetic merits of her gauzy bridesmaid gown. The sun has set, and autumn crisp has turned to autumn cold. Rory reaches into a potted plant sitting just outside the door to her office and feels around in the dirt.

"Come on, stupid key…" She digs with her manicured nails. Nothing. "Oh, come on!" Rory kicks the pot with about as much force as a fruit fly. Rory rounds the corner to the alley, presses a hand firmly against the brick, and empties the contents of her stomach in a few heaves.

* * *

"You're back."

"I am."

He watches as she wipes at the corner of her mouth with a used napkin. Notes the untouched glass of champagne before her. This dour mood. His stomach churns at the thought now percolating, but he shoves it aside.

Rory fiddles with the champagne again. Twisting the stem, sketching a tornado ring of condensation on the paper tablecloth. She taps her fingers against the glass in time to Hep Alien's shoegaze rendition of "Wouldn't It Be Nice." She realizes she's crying when a tear drop falls in the middle of her champagne tornado. She wipes her eyes as discreetly as she can, careful not to disrupt her mascara.

He isn't watching her, per say. But he does notice.

"You want ice cream?"

She looks at him like he's got five heads. "Ice cream."

"Can't have cake without ice cream."

"The immortal words of Emily Post."

"Come on. Luke's got a key to Taylor's."

"You're serious."

"Taylor's got cones, right?"

"This is so stupid."

"And yet you're standing, following me."

"Is it kosher for the maid or honor and best man to leave the wedding early?"

"I think it's encouraged."

"It's 40 degrees out here."

"Walk faster."

They cross the square to Luke's unnoticed. Jess uses his own key to enter, and they step inside. Jess briefly disappears to the office upstairs before returning with a ring of keys. Rory snatches them from his grasp and bolts for the back alley.

* * *

"This was a good plan." Rory bites into her chocolate-dipped, sprinkle-covered waffle cone with childlike glee. They're sitting on the floor behind the counter of Taylor's soda shop, out of sight.

Jess takes a wide lick of his double chocolate swirl.

"So, you wanna tell me what's really going on?"

Rory picks at the fraying edge of her tulle underskirt. A long silence passes between them.

"Your relationship with your dad. Is it okay?"

"It's okay. I'm not exactly harboring a grudge."

"Yeah, but, how do you _feel_ about him?"

"How do I feel."

"I mean, do you... feel like you missed anything?"

His expression darkens as his suspicions deepen. "I am who I am. I was mad at Jimmy for flaking - mad at Liz for being a flake - but there's no use trying to figure out what it might have been like if he had stuck around. I've been down that road. It wasn't a good look."

"I'm mad at my dad," she says, surprising herself. "I didn't think I was. Mom and I always had everything we needed, but... I'm mad at my mom, too. It's so stupid."

"It's not stupid."

"I wish I could know. If he had stayed - if mom had let him." She sniffs. "Whatever, it doesn't matter, now."

"Are you keeping it?"

She looks at him, bewildered. A million questions. How does he know? How _long_ has he known? _He's Jess, he knows everything, he probably just figured it out._ "I don't know. Yes? Probably?"

He bobs his head in a continuous nod. Digesting as his fears are confirmed. "And you...?"

She shrugs. "My mom had me when she was 16. She was in a new place, pregnant and alone. She had nothing, but, she knew exactly who she was. I'm 32 and I still have no idea. God, I should not have slept with Jon Favreau."

"John Favreau is the father?"

"No, the other Jon Favreau. Obama's Jon Favreau. _Years_ ago. I was following the campaign, we emptied an entire mini-fridge at a Holiday Inn in Des Moines. He told Rahm Emanuel I was an '8.'"

"The horror."

"I left the press corps."

"You're kidding."

"No! This is what I do. One mistake and I quit. I look back at my life and I can see it, one mistake right after the other. I give up before I even begin."

"Well, so what?"

"What?"

"For someone who spent most of her life making pro-con lists to determine a bunch of inane crap like which fake cheese product to purchase, you seem awfully resigned. People make mistakes, Rory. People fuck up, even you. That doesn't _make_ you a fuck-up. It makes you human. But if you think it's all a waste of time and energy now, don't bother inviting me to the pity party."

Rory cries. Full throated. Ugly and garbled. She's pouring out of herself. He hands her his pocket square, and she blows it like a French horn. "I'm sure you love this," she says between sniffs.

"I really don't."

"Come on, not even a little bit?" She motions a headline. "Rory Gilmore, pregnant and jobless."

He shakes his head. "Bullshit."

"I'm pathetic."

"So, no one told you life was gonna be this way."

She side-eyes him, red-faced and skeptical.

"Your job's a joke-"

"Jess."

"You're broke."

" _Jess_."

"Your love life's DOA."

Rory throws a crumpled, chocolate stained napkin at him. It lands an inch short of his lap. The tension disappears as if through a vaccuum. She laughs. "It's like I'm always stuck in second gear."

"Hey, when it hasn't been your day. Your week, your month."

"Or even my year." He reaches for her hand and squeezes. A silent chorus. "Thank you," she says through a watery smile. "For the pep talk. For the not being a giant asshole."

"Eh, the night's young."

From outside, the bass notes of "Hava Nagilia" rattle the windows of the soda shop.

"I can't believe it's been four years. We're not allowed to not talk to each other for that long ever again."

"Yes, ma'am." He stands and helps her to her feet. "So, how 'bout that dance?"

* * *

" _Ro-ree. I a-dore thee._ " Lorelai sing-songs, sandwiched between Luke and Rory, arms draped across their shoulders. She's pleasantly blasted, and they drag her, barefoot, through the square toward the diner. It's after midnight - prime sleeping hour in Stars Hollow - but more than a few stragglers remain swinging on the dance floor. _Hiccup_. " _Lu-cas. Rhymes with doo-cas._ Ha ha, doo. Get it? Like poo? _Poo-cas_." Lorelai knocks her head against Rory's shoulder. "Rory, Rory, your step-dad has a funny name."

"Very funny."

"You know what else is funny, is that Sookie's cake tastes just as good coming up."

"Uh oh."

They stop as Lorelai dry heaves. "Nope, false alarm. But it's true."

"We'll take your word for it," Luke chimes in.

They help her up the stairs and inside to join the wedding party's impromptu after-hours affair. Lane and Zach finish off a bottle of Prosecco. Sookie rubs circles on a passed-out Jackson's back. Jess pours two mugs of fresh coffee for both the ladies Gilmore. "Decaf," he mouths to Rory. She drinks, smiling her gratitude.

" _Jess-ee_ , _you are the best-ee."_

"I've seen her drunk, but never _that_ drunk," Jess says.

"Drunk was an hour and a half ago. We've moved on to delirious," Rory says.

"I should get married every day," Lorelai proclaims. She turns to the diner. "Everyone should get married every day."

"Hear, hear!" Lane toasts and takes a long swig from her bottle of bubbly.

"You get a wedding," she points to Lane, "and YOU get a wedding," she points to Sookie, "and YOU get a wedding," she points to Rory, completing a spin on her swiveling stool.

"Okay," Luke says, steadying his newly minted wife. "Watch her, will you?" he asks Rory. "I'm gonna run upstairs and see if I can find her some shoes for the walk home."

"Manolo Blahniks or bust! Rory, tell him to fetch me my Jimmy Choos."

"I'm sorry, Carrie Bradshaw," Rory says, stroking her mother's hair. "Only Birkenstocks for the married lady."

"No one should get married," Lorelai announces now. "Wait, aren't Birkenstocks back in?"

"We'll Facetime Sharon Osbourne tomorrow, I promise." Rory makes the Sign of the Cross to appease her.

"You're a good daughter. Awwww, you're gonna be such a good mom." Lorelai, realizing her volume, attempts to backtrack. " _Someday_. You'll be a good mom _someday_."

Jess shoots Rory a look. "It's okay, mom. Jess knows."

Lorelai gapes. "I assumed it was _Logan_ 's. Oh my God, _Jess!_ " Lorelai runs behind the counter, oblivious to her daughter's mortification. She nearly knocks him over with the force of her hug. "I already actually kind of like _you_!"

Rory's face, arms, ears, and toes are all hot with embarrassment. Lorelai pulls back to look between Jess and Rory, the combined buzz of adrenaline and alcohol coloring her picture of the scene. Three, two...

"Oh, no."

"I should go," Rory says, unable to look up.

"Rory," Jess protests.

"No, I'm gonna-"

"Sweets," Lorelai tries to stop her, but to no avail. The bell rings, and she's out the door.

"I found some Uggs. Hey, where's Rory?"

* * *

"Rory!"

"She's not here."

"I'm coming in."

"Leave a message at the beep."

Jess enters her bedroom. She's sitting at the foot of her bed, knees clutched to her chest like a child. Outside, the sun is rising on Stars Hollow. But in here, the sun is setting for Rory Gilmore. She doesn't look up.

"I can't do it."

A sharp intake of breath. "Okay," he says.

She shakes her head. "I can't tell him."

"Oh."

"I really loved him, you know? But I could never... It never _fit_. My mom says it has to fit. It doesn't fit. I can't...make it fit."

Jess wants to hold her, wants to fix her, would gladly trade in his own successes for her failures. But he can't, and more importantly, he knows he shouldn't. He crosses the room to her desk. Finds a mechanical pencil and a half-empty notebook among the mess of unopened mail and loose junk, and he gives them to her.

"You'll figure it out."

Jess moves to leave, but she calls after him. "Jess?" He lingers. "Do you ever think-?" Her voice catches, but he understands the question.

"All the time."

He leaves her with an empty page.

She writes.

 _Pro_...

* * *

 **A/N:** Please review. Even if it's just a, "hey, I read this and it didn't totally fucking suck." I'm sustained by the flattery of strangers.


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